


Goodnight, Saigon

by der_tanzer



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't just come from a funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight, Saigon

**Author's Note:**

> With much love to Jan, who became a nurse, Richard, who became an alcoholic, and all the boys who didn't get to become anything.  
> 

It probably wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't just come from a funeral. That was what Nick said later, when they had to justify their actions to themselves and to Lieutenant Quinlan. But Quinlan had been in the same position himself and the justification worked. It was 1985, ten years after the official end, but it wasn't really over and most of those who had been there had accepted by now that it never would be.

That sunny day in May the _Riptide_ housemates had gone to the funeral service of their friend, Captain Doug Layton. Nick and Cody had served with him and renewed the friendship when Doug moved to Redondo Beach a year ago. Murray always enjoyed meeting new people and Doug, being an engineer in civilian life, was thrilled to make friends with such a prolific inventor. They had become surprisingly close in a short time, and Doug's sudden death hit him as hard as it did those who had known him much longer. So it was expected that he would put on his uniform, letting Cody, with his greater attention to detail, fix his emblems and decorations, and participate in the military funeral. All three served as pallbearers, along with two other men from the old unit, and Doug's son, who had recently enlisted.

Nick and Cody folded the flag and Nick presented it to the widow, keeping his voice steady with great effort as he repeated the words he'd said so many times before, "As a representative of the United States Army, it is my high privilege to present you this flag. Let it be a symbol of the grateful appreciation this nation feels for the distinguished service rendered to our country and our flag by your husband."

So it was a very bad idea for the young man at Straightaway's to take note of their dress uniforms and ask them how many children they'd killed in the jungle. Nick leapt up and Cody was barely able to restrain him. One more beer for either of them and he would have failed right then. The young man took a step back, laughing.

"What's the matter, baby killer? Don't want to fight someone your own size?"

"Cody, let me take him," Nick whispered.

"Not here. These people are our friends." Cody pushed him back down and smiled, a tightly drawn version of his usual charm.

"Buddy, I think you have the wrong guys. We don't know you and you don't know us, okay? So let's all just walk away while we still can."

"Fucking pansies," he snorted. "Bad enough you had to go over there in the first place, but you _lost_, too. I _used_ to wonder why."

"Hey, that's enough," Cody said, straining now to hold onto Nick. This was going to get out of control in a hurry and he didn't think he could stop it. But he had to try. The restaurant was full and, as he'd pointed out, these people were their friends. Not to mention the fact that it didn't look right, engaging in a public brawl while in uniform.

"Man, what's wrong with you guys? Bad enough you went over there where you didn't have any business and _killed_ people; now you gotta sit around in public dressed up like you're proud of it? Don't you know the war's _over_?"

Nick almost got loose and that was when Murray stood up. At first he'd been too shocked to even believe what he was hearing, but now he was enraged.

"How _dare_ you?" he sputtered, then paused to take a breath. This had to be done right. He couldn't afford to look foolish. "We served our country in wartime. Whether you agree with the politics behind it or not, we answered when our nation called on us. And today we buried a friend who did the same." He choked a little on the lump in his throat and stopped before he could disgrace himself.

"Yeah, where were you?" Nick snapped. "In college? Hiding out in Canada? Or were you even old enough to serve?"

"I was in high school, asshole."

"Oh, so it wasn't a choice," Murray said, so scornfully that even his friends turned and stared. "It wasn't some great stand on your principles, you just didn't _have _to. That must have been nice, not having to make a decision like that. And now you think you're qualified you to sit in judgment on your elders and betters who did. That must be such a _relief_."

"And what kind of soldier were you, geek face?"

"He's a colonel, that's what kind of soldier he is," Nick said, finally wrenching out of Cody's grip. "He was designing technology to help end the war and save lives while you were popping zits and trying to get cheerleaders into bed. But then you probably still do that."

"What, you don't like girls, either?"

If that hit close to home, none of them let it show. Nick passed it by and returned to the real issue.

"Kid, I'm not asking you to like us, or agree with us, or the war or the politics, or any of it. I'm just asking you to show a little respect. Every man who put on the uniform, including _us_ and the guy we _buried_ today, and the guys who never even _made_ it home, was just doing what he thought was right for his country and its citizens. You know, kids like you."

"Hey, I never asked you to do shit for me. And so far as I can tell, that's what you did. Shit."

Nick grabbed the young man's arm then and started dragging him toward the back door.

"That's it, kid. You want a fight, you're gonna get one."

"Sure, three against one. That's how the Army does it, huh?"

"No, not three," Nick said, his voice low and deadly. "Just one. My friends are coming along to pull me off before I kill you."

"Maybe," Murray added, and no one looking at him then would have doubted he meant it. His cheerful openness was gone, replaced by white hot anger that was second only to Nick's in intensity, and probably just as dangerous.

That was how they ended up in the parking lot, watching Nick square off against a kid who had been in the tenth grade when the last soldiers came home in seventy-five. He even let the kid throw the first punch, but it wasn't a fight. Nick put him down twice and the kid declined to get up again. But he did call the police as soon as they had gone, and they hardly got back to the boat before Quinlan appeared. In a way, this was good. Had he been just a few minutes later, they would have been back in civilian clothes and some of the impact would have been lost.

"I have an assault complaint against you three yo-yos," he said, coming aboard without asking permission.

Murray started to protest and Nick waved him back.

"No, you have a complaint against _me_. I'm the one who hit him."

"So you admit it? That's going to speed up the paperwork."

"Lieutenant, you have to let him tell his side," Murray said.

"Were you involved?"

"Well, sort of. Not really, I guess."

"Then I don't have to listen to you at all. Ryder, you have two minutes to tell me why I shouldn't arrest you."

"We just came from a funeral," Nick said, slumping onto the bench in the stern. "We were part of the honor guard for a friend, a guy from our old unit. We went to _Straightaway's_ afterward, and this kid started talking shit. Called us baby killers…" He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"That kid you beat up?" Quinlan asked, narrowing his already narrow eyes. "That's why you hit him?"

"He wouldn't let up. I told him to mind his business, Murray tried to reason with him, but he just kept at us. It was starting to seem like that was the only way to shut him up."

"Baby killer, huh? I haven't heard that one myself since eighty-two." He sat down on the bench beside Nick. "Why don't you tell me about it."

After a few minutes, Cody offered him a beer, breaking their long held prohibition against drinking with Quinlan, and he left an hour later without arresting anyone.

***

"That was weird," Murray said as they undressed in their cabin. He was hanging his uniform neatly in the locker, his back to his friends. They exchanged a glance and Cody was elected to answer.

"Which part, Boz?"

"Quinlan. Drinking with us, sharing war stories, _not_ taking Nick to jail. How's he going to explain that? Doesn't he have an obligation, since that kid filed a formal complaint?"

"I think he was obligated to investigate. Apparently he didn't find enough cause to make an arrest," Cody explained.

"Except we all confessed." Murray picked up his jeans and then sat down on the bed, as if too confused to remember how to operate them. "I don't understand."

"Quinlan was there, Murray. He's as sensitive to this shit as any of us," Nick said, sitting down and slipping an arm around him. "I think sometimes that's why he's such an asshole. That stuff he said about his friends who died, they were his _last _friends. He's trying to be tough now and not get attached to people who are just going to die. He's kind of like the guy in that song, _Still in Saigon_."

"You never let me play those songs," Murray said thoughtfully. "Is it like that for you guys, too? I don't mean the friend part, obviously you can do that, but—do you feel like you're still there sometimes?"

"Well, we were Air Cav," Nick said with a glance at Cody's suddenly pale face, "so it was completely different. But, yeah, it's exactly the same."

"I don't understand."

"I know. It's hard to explain, Murray. It was different for everyone, but it's also the same. Some guys saw their friends impaled on punji stakes and some guys saw them blown out of the sky. Different dreams, same nightmare."

"I still don't understand why that guy had to pick a fight over it. He must know it's a sensitive issue for a lot of people, even now. Ten years isn't really that long, especially in the scope of warfare. The conflict itself went on longer than that. Even just the American involvement; the French were—but that's not the point," he interrupted himself. "The point is, everyone knows how bad it was and how messed up people are. Why couldn't he leave us alone?"

"He probably gets a thrill out of picking on people," Cody shrugged. "Surely you've seen that before."

"Sure, people pick on me all the time," he said casually. "But they don't do it to you guys."

"Who picks on you, Murray?"

Cody shot Nick a look, telling him to let it go, but Nick's eyes were blazing. He wanted a new target.

"Just people. It doesn't matter. What I can't understand is why a kid who would never go up against you any other time, suddenly decided to because you were in uniform."

"Maybe it's what he said. Maybe he thinks Vietnam vets are cowards by nature," Cody said. "Or maybe he thought someone would back him up. Really, though, I doubt he was thinking at all."

"Then why? If he didn't have anything against us, or a stake in the war—and how could he if he was just a kid then—why bother us at all?" His voice was plaintive and sad, needing an answer and knowing he wouldn't understand it, even if his friends could provide one.

"I don't know," Nick said, hugging him closer. "When I first got back to the states, the day I came home after eighteen months in country, someone spit on me at the airport. I didn't know why then and I don't know now. Maybe in another ten years, I'll have some idea. But I doubt it."

"Do you think it'll get better? Will they treat the soldiers differently in the next war?"

"Murray, I hope there isn't a next war," Cody sighed. "But if there is, it'll probably be against the Russians, and I think our people will support it. We've been getting ready long enough."

"Will you fight in it?"

"I will," Nick said at once. "If they call for the Reserves, you know I will."

"I guess I will, too, if I'm not too old," Cody said, trying to make it a joke. Murray nodded seriously.

"I should've stayed in. I could have joined the Reserves instead of going inactive, but…"

"But what?" Cody asked. He had always wanted to know why Murray retired when he did. There were a lot of benefits to staying in, and with his rank and position he wouldn't have had to work too hard for it. But it wasn't something they talked about and there had never been a good time to ask, until now.

"I was tired of making weapons. What you said is true, I was trying to get it over with faster and bring everyone home, but it didn't work. I saw how long the war dragged on, I know how many people died, and I never felt like I really made a difference. Killing the enemy didn't seem to save any of our guys. I thought I could do more in the private sector, advance technology to the point where people would, I don't know, stop fighting. But I haven't done that, either."

"You're only one man, Boz. You can't change the whole world overnight."

"What about you? Why didn't you stay?"

"I was tired, too," Cody said softly. "You didn't want to make weapons, I didn't want to use them. Spending two weeks a year pretending to be at war was too much like spending two weeks at war. Nick can do it because it means flying, which he loves. All I could do was shoot, and I get enough of that around here. But that doesn't mean I won't go back if I have to."

Murray nodded again.

"I would, too. If there was another war, I'd have to try and stop it again. Make more weapons and hope to get it right next time. But I sure don't want to."

"Nobody does," Nick told him. "But I don't think you have to worry about it. Hey, don't you have a new program you wanted to show us? Some trivia thing you were building?"

"Yeah," he said vaguely, still thinking uneasy thoughts.

"Well, get dressed and let's go look at it. You were so excited last night."

After a moment he shook his head and stood up to pull on his jeans. His enthusiasm returned as he hunted out a t-shirt and began describing the game. Nick listened attentively, taking the stress off Cody, who wasn't bouncing back well from the conversation. When Murray went out to prepare things in the office, Nick turned to Cody and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't let it get you down, man. Quinlan's going to lose the report and that kid won't bother us again."

"I don't care about that. Well, I do, but not much. I just hate the whole thing. I don't want to go to war. It was so fucking hard, coming back last time. I don't know if I could survive it again."

"Man, nobody wants to fight. And we're not going to. That's all over, Cody. It's not gonna happen again. Come on, don't you want to see the new game?"

"May as well. Doesn't take much to make him happy, does it?"

"Nope. And you know what? Sometimes, especially when I wake up from one of those dreams, I look at him and I think that's what we fought for. We earned the right to come home to each other and that cheerful little guy who loves us, and we get to watch him try to make the world a better place."

"What about the others?" Cody asked very softly. "The ones who didn't come home?"

"They earned the right to rest."

They finished dressing in silence and went to find Murray. Tonight there would be nightmares for both of them, but they wouldn't wake alone. They would have each other to understand, and Murray's eternal hope to keep them going.


End file.
